Moonwalking
by Teobi
Summary: TAG 2015. John goes a little Space Bonkers. **NO SPOILERS** Just pure John fluff.


Well, my lovelies, I promised a bit of naked John fluffiness, and here it is. Just a friendly warning, this fic has not been read by a beta. I also guessed at things like the bathroom dehumidifier. If anybody has suggestions for better technical terms, then tell me and I'll get it incorporated.

This fanfic is based on TAG 2015 and is written for fun, not profit. All characters belong to their rightful owners. As always, just borrowing. Thank you Josie for allowing me to use one of your screencaps as a cover picture.

Stayin' Alive lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group. I have incorporated one short line from the song, obtained from LyricsFreaks dot com. If this is really not permissible in any way, shape or form, let me know before you report me and I'll make the necessary adjustments. Thank you.

Moonwalking

John sighed with gratitude as the hot water sluiced over his bare chest, running down his limbs in ticklish rivulets. Nothing... no, _nothing_ beat a hot water shower. So what if he lived in an almost sterile, germ free environment? So what if he could go three days without using deodorant and not have to suffer _someone_ – a certain tow headed, squid sensing brother, holding his nose and shouting, "Jeez, what died in here?" So what if there was zero chance of getting deep down, disgustingly dirty in the mudless, grimeless, purified, slightly scented, gentle as a baby's breath atmosphere of Thunderbird 5? John Tracy liked his showers- and he liked them _hot._

John squeezed a hefty blob of 'Revitalizing' shower gel into his hand, smeared it between his palms, and began to lather it meticulously over his whole body. The air became suffused with the aroma of … he checked the label, 'Grapefruit and Mint'. He wondered if maybe Kayo had picked it out especially for him, or whether whoever had been in charge of supplies that month had chosen indiscriminately. He began to sing, starting with the theme tune to his favourite TV show, _Stingray_ , then belting out a medley of other old time theme tunes interspersed with character voices. Turning this way and that under the shower, he ended his watery rendition of Meet The Flintstones with a hearty, " _Wilmaaaaa_!" and was mighty glad that none of his brothers could hear him.

Although his shower was technically over when the last vestiges of lather gurgled down the pipe and into Thunderbird 5's waste and recycling system, John remained in the tiny cubicle until every inch of his skin tingled and throbbed under the bombardment of needle sharp droplets. He ran his hands over his face and through his soaking wet hair and let this artificial rainstorm pound his shoulders. God, this felt _so_ good. He didn't know what felt nicer- a hot shower or a woman's touch. Possibly a woman's touch _in_ a hot shower? He smiled even wider, tilting his head back and closing his aqua eyes against the steaming spray. One day he would have to get a woman up here and test that theory.

When his mind, body and soul were finally sated, John shut off the water and stepped out of the cubicle. To his chagrin, the outer room was foggy, hot and humid, condensation clouding the full length mirror on the opposite wall. Grabbing his towel, John rebuked himself for not activating the dehumidifier before entering the shower. _Brains designs all this wonderful stuff, and I forget to turn it on._ He peered at the mirror through the mist but his reflection was just a fuzzy shape, mysterious and alien-like. He looked down the length of himself as though he were a specimen under his own microscope, patting his taut stomach with a critical grunt. _One day all those bagels are gonna catch up with_ _me_ _, but I guess it won't be today_. _Which is good, because I'm starting to get hungry again._ _It's amazing how hungry I get when I don't have to e_ _a_ _t Grandma's cooki_ _ng_ _._

Shuddering at the memory of a particularly inedible souffle, which had come out of the oven looking reasonably okay but had then rapidly deflated into a sad and withered blob of sludge, John turned away from the mirror, flipped the dehumidifier switch and exited the shower room, leaving it to dispel the moisture in the air and to clean and purify itself without any need for further intervention.

John strode through the brightly lit and gently humming corridors of Thunderbird 5, drying himself with the towel as he went. To all intents and purposes he could have been striding through the hallways of his own home, only _sans_ clothing. _Au naturel_. As naked as the day he was born. He couldn't get away with that at home. He'd turn a corner and there would be Grandma ready to scream in horror, or M.A.X. staring at him, probably taking photographs. But up here in the depths of space, he could get away with anything. Literally. Anything.

He came to the end of a corridor, slung the towel around his neck and stepped, naked, into the slow-rotating circular section of Thunderbird 5. This rotating section had a transparent floor, allowing John to keep a watchful eye on the Earth at all times. He would regularly patrol up and down, looking for any storms or surface eruptions, for city wide blackouts or other signs of man-made turmoil, for disruptions in the oceans and on the land, and far up- or was that down- into the sky. The fact that John could sense the onset of danger even before the calls came pouring in meant that he was, quite literally, the eyes and ears of International Rescue. He could gaze into infinity from the safety of this incredible observation platform with a stomach and a brain that were strong enough to deal with both the optical illusion of having nothing beneath his feet and the knowledge that his beautiful, awe inspiring surroundings could kill him within a matter of seconds. When he wasn't patrolling he would usually find somewhere just to sit and look at the giant blue globe, watching clouds gather over sparkling seas, thinking about home, thinking about the things, and the _people_ , he missed. He missed his brothers and their rapid fire bantering. He missed Kayo and wished he could have been there in person to share her excitement when they unveiled Thunderbird S in front of her eyes. He missed his father, desperately. He missed almost everything, but he did not miss Grandma's cookies- he definitely did _not_ miss Grandma's cookies. Those things were lethal.

Feeling mischievous, John started parading stark naked along the transparent gangway. He gripped both ends of the towel in each hand and began to strut as if he were on a catwalk. He looked down at a twinkling city far below him, automatically making a mental note of its co-ordinates using the sector markers on the floor- he was, after all, the most level headed and supposedly sensible one of the family (which is probably why he was up here in the first place), and winked. "Hello, all you beautiful people," he drawled in the oily tones of a cabaret emcee. "Welcome to America's Next Supermodel. And what a show we have for you tonight."

He ordered a fresh bagel from the food slot and attempted to roll it along his arm and across his shoulders, but it fell off midway and bounced across the floor. He ordered a couple more and tried again, then threw one up in the air and successfully caught it behind his back. He took a huge bite and continued on his way, chewing heartily, enjoying his moment of madness. There was no way in hell he would ever act like this at home- he was the quiet one, the one always casting an exhausted eye at the Terrible Two, Gordon and Alan, the one who mooched off to read a book somewhere, even on the nicest day. And yet here he was, right this very minute, flashing an entire planetary population of nine billion people, if only they knew it!

He ambled along, singing the words to an old Disco number from the 1970s. _Stayin_ _'_ _Alive_. He knew the bits about using his walk, and being a woman's man with no time to talk, but he had to improvise the rest, which he did with alarming enthusiasm. His throat hurt from the strain of trying to sing in such a high pitch, but he belted out the words as lustily as if he were the only person for miles around- which of course, he was.

"It's all right, it's okay, you can look the other way. But if you look into Space, you ain't gonna see my face. Ah ah ah ah..."

He swung his arms, pointing at the ceiling, then down at the floor. He whirled the towel around his head. He shook his bare backside at the whole world, laughing at a level of immaturity he could only assume was an unavoidable part of the Tracy heritage, since every single one of his brothers could be, and often _were_ , jaw-droppingly bonkers at times. Even straight-laced Scott.

John Tracy threw back his head and laughed. He wondered if maybe Five's oxygen levels needed adjusting- maybe he was getting too much of a hit of pure O2. He made a mental note to check on it, but for now he was happy. He was buck naked and happy, and he was going to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. He decided to dance his way around the entire station and moon as many different countries as possible before shame and embarrassment inevitably took over and made him run for cover. Or before, Heaven forbid, a call came in and he had to answer it in the nude. _Oh my God, what if it's Kayo._ _I'll never live it down_ _._

But even that made him laugh, picturing the look of abject horror on her face. Maybe it would be kind of cool if she called! He could show her his famous towel dance. She'd probably never speak to him again, but at least she could say she saw his famous towel dance. _Oh god, how much time do I have before someone calls. It's gotta happen sooner or later. Dammit, Tracy, are you_ sure _you're_ _feeling_ _okay?_ But even in the midst of these thoughts, John was dancing across the South Pacific, shaking his lightly tanned tush at the gleaming ocean, thrusting his pelvis like a drunken wedding guest at the little island whose location he knew by heart, could point at with his eyes closed without even having to check the co-ordinates. The little island that held wondrous secrets. The little island with the house and the swimming pool and the giant rockets in the huge underground caverns. The little island that he and his crazy family called home, where maybe Kayo was already choosing another weird but wonderful brand of shower gel to keep him smelling fresh and beautiful, even when there was no one here to smell him.

"Take that, Grandma's cookies," he said, although he knew that he would eat a whole plateful of the hated things if he could just beam down there right now. "Take that, and that, and _that_!"


End file.
